


Stardust

by Lexus (Beautiful_Ruin)



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Sexual Content, F/F, Homicide Detective Eve, MAJOR TW: graphic conversations about past childhood physical and sexual abuse and neglect, Sloooooow Burn, TW: drugs as a coping mechanism to deal with past trauma, TW: graphic drug use, Vegas Showgirl Villanelle, Villanelle is a little thief, those chapters will be marked as well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26866804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beautiful_Ruin/pseuds/Lexus
Summary: Villanelle is a showgirl at the Stardust in Las Vegas. Eve is a homicide detective. They meet by chance and become close quickly, with Eve being so different from anyone Villanelle has ever met. The only person she's never felt judged by, and she doesn't want to lose that. And Eve... she just wants to be there. It's strange, being trusted with someone's terrible trauma, and she has no idea why Villanelle has chosenherto trust, but she'll take it.There are major triggers in this story, all throughout. However, what I am attempting to do is white out those parts so they have to be highlighted to be read, so that people who do not want to skip entire chapters can skip only the descriptions of trauma.***I painstakingly accomplished this, so make sure you view the story in my work skin, don't hide creator's work skin***
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 129
Kudos: 195





	1. Poker

Villanelle loves being the center of attention. She always ha—no, not always. Her mood darkens for a split second before she is back in control, smiling and laughing and pretending to listen to whatever these high rollers are saying to her. She is seated on one of their laps, plying him with drinks, every so often slinging her arm around his shoulders and leaning into him, keeping his focus on her smiling face as she discreetly pockets a handful of his chips. Men are so easy.

She says something stupid and superficial to him, and he laughs, and suddenly their poker table is joined by a woman. This is not unusual in and of itself, but Villanelle has not seen this woman before, so she must be a new customer.

She rises from the man’s lap, prying his hand off of her waist when he tries not to let her go, resisting the urge to break his fingers, and she slinks around the table, starting to lower herself onto the new woman’s lap.

Eve is startled as fuck and grabs the girl by the hips. “Woah there, Dollface. I’m a detective.”

She doesn’t let Villanelle sit down. Villanelle pouts at her, lower lip slid out and everything. “I was not offering you anything illegal,” she says, eyes raking up and down the woman’s body. And her hair... Villanelle could get lost in it. Her hands are in it before she can tell them to wait for her brain. Although... her brain would probably have still said it was okay to do. Boundaries have never really been her thing. She likes other people to have them about her, but she does not have any about them.

“Hey!” Eve snaps, pushing the girl back a few feet, effectively dislodging wandering hands from her hair. Like what in the actual fuck? Who is this girl, overtly flirting with her in the middle of a crowded casino? This... much younger girl. Things like this don’t happen to her. She’s not impressed... except for the thick Russian accent. She’s always had a thing for accents. Her ex-girlfriend is British. Okay, not so much an ex-girlfriend, more like a good friend that she’s fucked twice. Eve has never had an actual committed relationship for long enough to call anyone her ex-girlfriend. The longest one was maybe... wait, wasn’t there that one girl who—wow. No. The longest relationship she’d ever had was a one-night stand that just happened to last for longer than twenty-four hours.

Villanelle sighs and rolls her eyes when the woman is not even looking at her. She knows she looks fucking good, and there’s no way this woman is straight, so she decides to be very offended. “If you do not want your social status elevated, who am I to insist?” Her words are a little slow as a snort of derision chases them out, because her little indulgence is starting to take full effect now.

She is going to walk away, it just takes her a moment to turn, but in her distraction and slight intoxication, she catches the buckles of her boots on each other and stumbles. The next thing she knows, she is in the woman’s lap with a hand clutching the back of her dress, and she could not be more pleased. She will remember that stumbling can work with women as well as men. She sniffs as her nose tries to run and the taste is bitter as it drains down her throat instead, but she’s used to it. She turns her face to the amazing-haired woman’s face and purrs. “Mmm. Thank you.”

“I just didn’t want a crime scene,” Eve says, letting go of the girl’s dress. “Be more careful when you get up again.” She waits, but when the girl just sits there, she gets more specific. “Which should be now. You should be getting up again now.”

“I am catching my breath.” Villanelle lies easily. She’s made a career out of lying, after all. Dancing on that stage every night, making promises with her body that she never intends to keep. She idly thinks she might keep one or two of those promises if this woman was in the audience.

She is not sure how long she has been sitting there, because it only seems like a few seconds to her, but the woman is getting impatient.

Villanelle sighs. “Are you really going to kick me out of your lap? I am very good luck.”

Eve gets a shit-eating grin at that one and throws her head back a little, breathing through a laugh. “Should we show that gentleman across the table just how much good luck you brought him?” she whispers in the girl’s ear, patting a dress pocket that she knows is full of poker chips.

“I will not do that to you,” Villanelle whispers back, and this time she means it. There is something about this woman... something that is already driving her insane, and they have just met. Because of that _something_ , she will not steal.

Eve can hear the drugs in the way the girl slurs her words. Or not slurs exactly, but it’s like every word is on the verge of being slurred, just not quite—maybe slow is a better descriptor. Eve can hear the drugs in the way the girl is talking so slow. Toss dilated pupils and glassy irises into the mix and there’s no question. But she’s homicide, not vice, and she does have a twenty-something-year-old bombshell in her lap. Chiseled jaw and cheekbones, perfect nose, expressive eyebrows and haunting green eyes. And her body? Well. Eve won’t even let herself get into a description of _that_ flawlessness. “Coke or heroin?” she finds herself asking out of pure curiosity.

Villanelle somehow doesn’t hear judgment in the woman’s voice, so she doesn’t get up and walk away, but she’s not going to answer that, either. “So... strange woman with amazing hair, what is your name?”

Eve laughs at that account of herself. “Eve. You?”

She almost says Oksana, and that makes her freeze. That has not happened in many, many years. “Villanelle,” she says, irritation flicking on like a light switch. “I need to go.”

Eve moves her hands out of the way so the girl can get up. She’s never gotten quite that reaction before to asking someone’s name. “Were you just waiting until I gave in? Now that I was gonna let you sit here, you’re leaving?”

Villanelle almost can’t make herself get up. But she has to. She has to get away from Eve now. She doesn’t want to. She bites back a whine as she stands and walks away, resisting the urge to look back.

She doesn’t stop until she’s in her dressing room, door shut quietly behind her, and then she lets herself loose; the beast stalks out of the cage, and twenty minutes later everything breakable is broken.

“Not again,” her boss says when he finds her. She’s been sitting in her armchair for an hour, staring blankly at the wall. The blood on her hands is dry now, completely. It’s not even sticky anymore.

She doesn’t move or speak as Jean Paul cleans off her hands. She is only vaguely aware of him and what he is doing. His voice is distorted, as if he’s far away, but he’s right next to her.

“Why must you break everything, Villanelle? Not all of this is yours to break...” He never asks the right questions.

She doesn’t answer. She never does. Things as mundane as vases and televisions do not require mourning.

***

“Where are you dragging me, Bill?” Eve complains for the fifth time tonight. Bill is her partner on the force and also her best friend. He’s less of her best friend when he won’t tell her where they’re going, though, because she hates surprises. “Tell me now or I’m going home.”

Bill sighs, rolling his eyes. “Drama queen. All right, all right! We’re going to see a show.”

“Are you seriously telling me that we’re about to become a cliché?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ve been in Vegas for seven years and you’ve never gone to a proper show. That should be criminal.”

Eve groans and runs her hands over her face. “I’m gay, Bill. I sleep with women, I don’t objectify them.”

“You won’t be objectifying them... they’re already doing that to themselves. You’ll just be enjoying the ride.”

“The ride to HELL.”

Bill laughs, but he obviously knows he’s won, and Eve isn’t sure she likes being predictable.

Her jaw drops when she recognizes the girl from the poker table the other week. Villanelle is a Stardust showgirl? She’d had a Stardust showgirl sitting in her lap, flirting with her, and then running off like Cinder-fucking-ella? Jesus Christ. And now that flawless body is on full display, and Eve _wants_ her. She won’t have her, but she wants her. There’s no harm in a little wanting. She’ll hang around and say hello after the show... if the girl even remembers her. Villanelle had been pretty fucked up on something.

***

Villanelle showers and gets dressed, and she is about to head home when she notices... the woman with amazing hair. Who seems to be waiting for her specifically. She stops in front of the woman and narrows her eyes. “No. Konstantin just replaced everything in my dressing room.”

The woman blinks at her. “What?”

Villanelle snarls, and the woman looks taken aback. “You,” she says, clenching her hands into fists. “You made me break everything in there.”

Eve scoffs, eyes wide. “I did no such thing. What the hell are you talking about? You were sitting on my lap, coked out of your head, and you ran off after I asked your name. What the fuck? In what universe did I make you break everything in your dressing room?”

“In this universe,” Villanelle says through clenched teeth. “Leave me alone.” Why does her heart jump against her rib cage when she says this?

“Wow! Fine by me!” Eve says, not sure what she’d been expecting, but certainly not this.

Villanelle feels panic when the woman walks away. “Shit!” she shouts, catching up and falling into step. “We will have a drink.”

“I don’t think so,” Eve says, tired of the back and forth already. She wouldn’t tolerate this from her closest friends; she certainly isn’t going to tolerate it from a stranger.

Rejection blooms hot in her chest and Villanelle cannot handle this. “No,” she says, quickly moving in front of the woman to stop her walking. “We will have a drink and I will explain.” Her eyes say please but her mouth refuses.

“No,” Eve says simply, waiting for Villanelle to move out of her way. She’s not about to get into a sidestepping dance in a hotel lobby.

There’s acid in Villanelle’s throat and in her eyes and in her mouth, and she remembers the woman’s name; hopes it will help. “Eve.” She says it quietly. “Come have a drink with me and let me tell you some things. I will pay. And if you are not satisfied by the time I am done talking, I will not make a scene when you leave.”

Eve should say no, but there’s something about the way Villanelle refuses to say please that ropes her in. She’s always been a sucker for assholes. “One drink.”

***

One drink turns into two and Villanelle still hasn’t offered any explanation for her unexpected behavior. When the showgirl flags the bartender again, however, Eve puts her foot down. “No more until you talk.”

Villanelle had fully intended to start talking as soon as their first drinks had arrived, but she had ended up watching Eve’s throat instead as the older woman downed a beer. In fact, all she did for the first five minutes upon sitting down was stare at Eve. Her eyes. Her mouth. Her hair. And then once they were drinking, her throat.

She’d thought she was going to get away with not explaining herself after all, until Eve says _that_. She sighs and gives up the ghost. “Yes, all right. Are you sure you want to know, though?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to know?”

Villanelle shrugs. People get weird around her after they find things out about her. Normally she cares less than zero, but she doesn’t think she wants Eve to get weird. Oh well. If Eve gets weird, Eve gets weird.

Eve watches Villanelle go from smiling and confident to subdued and almost resigned. She wonders about the change, wonders about the reason for it, wonders a lot of things about this girl who just seems really _different_. When Villanelle starts talking, Eve is chilled by the flatness of her voice.

"I was beaten a lot as a child. Molested and raped a lot. Did not have much to eat or nice things to play with." 

Eve’s heart feels like it has just literally dropped out of her chest and into her stomach. She knows she’s staring with her mouth open but she can’t help it. The casual way Villanelle has just told her the most devastating thing she’s ever heard, it makes her feel like she can’t breathe. How can Villanelle just tell that to a stranger? Without crying, without anger, without any sense at all of the absolute horror of her words?

“My name is Oksana, but that is not the person I show to the world. To the world, and most of the time to myself as well, I am Villanelle.”

She doesn’t have to say anything else for understanding to swallow Eve whole. “When I asked your name, you almost said Oksana,” she guesses, and waits for Villanelle to confirm.

Villanelle doesn’t look directly at Eve, she looks somewhere over Eve’s shoulder, so that she can see but not have to _see_. “Yes. I was unnerved and reacted poorly. I’m hoping you might be able to overlook it.” Why? Why does she want Eve to overlook it; to forgive her? She should be running. Fast.

Eve wants to touch her, to hug her, to take her hand, to do _something_ , but she doesn’t. She won’t. That’s not what this is. She takes a slow breath and leans back in her chair, studying the younger woman for a minute, and then speaks. “Consider it overlooked.”

Villanelle is surprised, even though this was what she’d been hoping for. And so far, Eve does not seem weird. She changes the subject. “This means you will have another beer?”

“Gin and tonic this time,” Eve says. “That’s what I usually drink.” She’s a detective by job and by nature, and she can’t get past this one thing without knowing. “Did they go to prison?”

Villanelle knows who Eve is asking about so she doesn’t bother playing the game. “No.”

“Would you want—”

“They are dead.” Her attention is pulled as the bartender delivers their drinks, and this is the moment Eve is going to get weird. She quickly sips her whiskey to avoid thinking about that. But Eve reaches across the table and lightly knocks the rims of their glasses together.

“Cheers to that.”

Eve is _different_.


	2. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: frank discussion of past childhood sexual abuse (those bits are whited out so highlight to read them)  
> TW: graphic drug use and drugs as a coping mechanism to deal with past trauma
> 
> Eve goes to Villanelle's penthouse suite for dinner, and then they watch a movie.

Eve goes back to the Stardust poker lounge a few nights later, and she doesn’t miss the moment Villanelle sees her, because the starlet immediately says something to the man she’s stealing from and makes a beeline for Eve’s table. She doesn’t wait for an invitation to sit, she just delicately lowers herself onto Eve’s lap, and Eve has to laugh. “Sure, have a seat. Being someone’s furniture is my absolute favorite thing to do besides read.”

Villanelle doesn’t say anything, just watches the dealer shuffle the cards and stays perched on Eve’s lap.

Eve is pretty sure she’s high. “You’ve got a little residue on your nose,” she teases.

Villanelle doesn’t turn to look at her but finally speaks. “You are a very bad liar, Eve,” she whispers. “I never have residue anywhere.”

“You got me,” Eve says. She drops her ante into the pot and takes her cards, and it’s funny how she can just play hand after hand of poker as if Villanelle isn’t sitting on her lap. Like it’s natural for her to be there and doesn’t require any notice or thought.

When she’s ready to go, she colors up and stands, carefully dislodging the starlet, and Villanelle slings an arm around her waist.

“Do not go yet, Eve.”

“I’m up a hundred bucks. If I stay I’ll lose it.”

“Well... are you hungry? Would you let me make you something to eat? We can watch a movie...”

Eve has nothing going on tonight so she shrugs. “Sure. Don’t you have a show, though?”

“It is my night off.”

“Then what are you even doing here?”

Villanelle giggles softly as if Eve has missed an important joke. “Hoping to see you.”

Eve pretends like that isn’t exciting and just snorts. “How far do you live?”

“I live here. In one of the penthouse suites.”

“Oh. Fancy.” Eve raises an eyebrow and nods. “Lead the way.”

***

They stop by the cashier’s window for Eve to cash out and then get into the elevator. Villanelle uses a special key card to get to the top floor, and Eve whistles when they’re in the suite and Villanelle turns the light on. “Damn...” The thing that pulls her attention the most is the Baby Grand piano in the middle of the living room. “Do you play?”

Villanelle shrugs and shuts the door. “A little. I am not very good.”

Eve walks over to it and her shoes click on the marble floor, and she drags a hand across the top of the piano, in a bit of awe. It’s fucking gorgeous. She wishes she played piano just because she really wants to play this one. She presses one of the keys with one finger and it sounds divine. “Would you play something later?”

“I told you I am not very good,” Villanelle says, scrunching up her nose in a way that makes Eve want to pinch her cheeks.

“That’s okay... even if you suck ass, I still want to hear something. What are you going to cook me?”

“Balsamic-glazed chicken and a honey-almond rice pilaf,” Villanelle says, moving into the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Eve finally tears herself away from the piano and wanders over to one of the four plush chairs that flank the coffee table on two sides. There are two cream-colored ones on the side she’s standing on and two black ones on the other, and she sits down just as she notices two lines of coke on the table. “Um,” she calls into the kitchen.

Villanelle ties her apron behind her back and pops her head into the living area. “Yes?”

“I’m not exactly judgy, but can you take care of _that_?” she asks, twirling her finger toward the glaring white powder.

Villanelle laughs quietly and walks over, kneels down and picks up the hollowed-out pen shaft, covers the left side of her nose and sniffs both lines efficiently to get them out of the way. She returns to the kitchen, tilting her head back and sniffing a little extra to drive it all home.

Eve watches the whole thing in shock, too frozen to say anything while it’s happening. Then all she can think to say when it’s over is _oh that’s nice_ , so she doesn’t say anything. Out loud. She doesn’t say anything out loud. She’s saying plenty inside her head. _What the fuck? Who does that? Who just waltzes over and sniffs lines in front of a cop they’ve invited up for dinner and a movie? And then just waltzes back to the kitchen to cook said dinner_?

***

Eve learns quickly that when Villanelle is extraordinarily high, she talks about things.

“I was four the first time,” she says as she swallows a bite of rice pilaf, her voice drawn out and slow. It’s that not-quite-slurred quality Eve had attributed to the drugs the last time.

She says it so casually that Eve almost asks _the first time what_? But she remembers that she knows what Villanelle is talking about, and she wishes Villanelle was not talking about it during dinner because she’ll lose her appetite. Then Villanelle will think she doesn’t like the food, and she _loves_ the food. She takes a long sip of her G&T for courage. “Who was it that hurt you?”

Villanelle talks with her mouth full. “My parents. Their friends. Couple of teachers.” She shrugs. “Everyone, mostly, I guess.”

“Parents?” Eve asks, forcing in a bite of chicken before she stops being able to eat. “Your mother too?”

Villanelle nods. "Mama liked to use objects.” She picks up her beer bottle and tilts it toward Eve. “Stuff like this."

Jesus fucking Christ. No wonder she had a coke habit. She must need it just to get through every hour of the day.

Villanelle continues like it’s nothing. "She was jealous of Papa, I think, because she did not have a penis."

Eve really feels like she might throw up. She is about to ask to change the subject—

“You are the first person I can talk about it with,” Villanelle says, forking in a mouthful of chicken. “Everyone else gets weird.”

—when Villanelle says _that_ , so now she can’t ask to change the subject. “I’m already weird, so...” she says, hoping Villanelle will think that’s funny.

Villanelle laughs a little as she chews her food. “You are funny, Eve. I like that.” Then suddenly she’s staring at Eve and her gaze is glassy and intense. “Is it okay? That I talk to you about this?”

Eve wants to say yes and she wants to say no, because it’s breaking her heart, but Villanelle seems to really want to get it out, and if no one else has ever been a good enough person to share her trauma, Eve knows she will never tell this woman no. “Of course,” she says, like it’s nothing to her too.

“Do you like the food?” Villanelle asks. “You aren’t eating.”

“It’s delicious,” Eve says with an appreciative groan. “I just didn’t want you to think I wasn’t listening.” She picks up her fork, stomach churning.

“You really like it?” Villanelle asks, and Eve notices the way her eyes light up, like Eve enjoying the meal is the most important and amazing thing in the world.

“It’s so fucking good,” Eve says, and she groans again as she takes another bite. “The rice pilaf is out of this world,” she says after she swallows. “And the way the honey of it contrasts with the balsamic of the chicken, oh my God, Villanelle. I feel spoiled. I usually have frozen dinners.”

Villanelle looks so incredibly happy... until the last part, and then she looks horrified. “Eve!” she says, setting down her fork and staring hard. “I will cook dinner for you any time you want me to. I enjoy cooking and you should not be eating frozen dinners; that is sad and pathetic and very bad for your health.”

Eve freezes with her fork halfway to her mouth and stares back. Wow. She didn’t think it was possible to feel this scolded over her eating habits, but she most certainly does. “Um... you could cook for me on Friday nights? I’m done at five on Fridays and usually get takeout?”

“Yes,” Villanelle says with a nod and picks her fork back up. “I will cook dinner for you on Fridays. Six o’clock?”

“Six is great.”

“I will give you my cell phone number and if you text me when you are in the lobby, I will come to retrieve you.”

“Won’t that be a pain in the ass for you? Can’t they just give me some kind of law enforcement elevator pass?”

“Those do not exist,” Villanelle says, laughing. “I don’t mind coming to retrieve you.”

“If you’re sure,” Eve says, taking another bite of rice.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

***

They finish dinner and move to the media room to watch a movie.

“Uh, wow,” Eve says as she looks around at the room.

“This is my favorite room,” Villanelle says. “I love to watch movies. I don’t usually have anyone to watch them with, so this is a treat for me. I am so glad you’re here.” She wants to touch Eve somehow, but she doesn’t. This is not the poker table where she can just sit on Eve’s lap and everything will be fine. There is just something so magnetic about this woman and her amazing hair that Villanelle can’t help being drawn in. “What would you like to watch? I get all the channels.”

She watches as Eve sits on the middle part of the sectional and she picks up the remote before joining. Keeping a respectable distance, of course. It is a good thing she doesn’t hold grudges against categories of objects, because she would not be able to drink beer or use remotes if that were the case.

Eve looks over when she sits down. “You pick a movie. You know what you have and everything.”

What is Eve thinking? Villanelle would love to be able to read Eve’s mind. Is she thinking she will pick a movie and Villanelle won’t like it? Is she thinking she doesn’t want the responsibility of choosing? Is she thinking she really doesn’t care what movie they watch? Is she thinking about movies at all? Is she thinking about dinner still? Is she thinking about kissing Villanelle? Is she thinking about what Villanelle told her? Is she thinking about how good Villanelle smells? Villanelle thinks Eve smells _so_ good.

She turns on the TV. “Well... what kind of movies do you like?”

“Oh, I like everything,” Eve says, and Villanelle believes her. It doesn’t sound like just something to say, it sounds like Eve is really not picky and could enjoy any kind of movie.

Villanelle will not push her luck and choose a romance. She chooses Legally Blonde, because that is cute and funny and will be the perfect ending to their wonderful night.

She can’t focus on the movie because every time Eve laughs, she feels like she’s transported to another universe, and it’s just the two of them. No house, no time, no space, no movie, just them. Them and Eve’s laughter. “I like your laugh,” she finally says.

Eve turns and laughs again. “Thanks,” she says. “I haven’t heard you laugh much yet. Just a couple of quiet chuckles earlier. You don’t think this movie is funny?”

Villanelle is afraid she might be blushing. “I’ve seen it before,” she says. “A few times. I laughed a lot the first time.”

“Hm,” Eve says, eyeing her suspiciously, but also playfully, she can tell.

***

When the movie is over, Eve turns to Villanelle and can’t help a question that has been bubbling up for hours. “Your... experiences. Is that why the coke?”

Villanelle isn’t sure whether she likes the question, but ultimately, she answers. “Probably. I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I like not having to feel like I have to be normal for a while.”

“What? You don’t have to be normal, ever,” Eve says, disgusted. “Who told you you had to be normal if you’re sober?”

Villanelle lets out a real laugh this time at the look on Eve’s face; as if she has tasted something so bitter it will kill her. She likes the way that hearing her laugh makes Eve smile instead. “No one told me, it’s just a feeling I have.”

“You definitely do not have to be normal.”

“Well I am definitely not normal, so that’s good.”

“I’m glad they’re dead, you know,” Eve blurts out. “Your parents. And the other people who hurt you.”

Villanelle is oddly touched by the statement even if it doesn’t make sense for Eve to be glad about that. “They’re very dead, every single one,” she promises. She doesn’t mention that her best friend and the closest thing to a father she ever really had, Konstantin, killed them all. Even though it happened in Russia, Eve is still a cop.

“Very dead?” Eve asks so she doesn’t have to focus on other emotions. “Not just regularly dead?”

Villanelle laughs again. “Very, very dead.”

“What’s the difference between regularly dead and very, very dead?” Eve has to know now.

Villanelle tries to look innocent while she fumbles with the remote, finally putting it on the coffee table and shrugging one shoulder. “Oh, you know... decapitated.”

Eve chokes on her own saliva and ends up spluttering ungracefully, glad she hadn’t been drinking anything. “Jesus.” She folds her hands in her lap and stares at them for a good while, then purses her lips and looks at Villanelle. “I mean... I can’t say I blame you...”

Villanelle’s eyes go wide and she jumps to her feet. “It wasn’t _me_!” she yells, laughing.

Eve watches her, breath suspended, and then it tumbles out in a laugh of her own, until she’s doubled over on the sofa, wheezing. “I don’t know why I assumed that!” she manages through her hysteria. At least Villanelle isn’t mad about the assumption. That could have gone so wrong.

Villanelle is delighted at Eve’s hysterical laughter, because she thinks that this amazing woman probably doesn’t laugh like this very often. She’s not sure what makes her think this, but she does. And she likes being the one to bring it out; this side of Eve.

She sits back down and nudges Eve with her shoulder. “Shut up.”

Eve tries to get herself under control. It’s been a long time since she’s laughed like this, and it feels really good. “You shut up,” she shoots back, returning the nudge. Except she does it a little too hard and Villanelle ends up on the floor. “Oh my God.” She’s not laughing anymore, she’s horrified. “I’m so sorry, oh my God.”

Villanelle is still laughing, though, and shakes her head. “It’s fine, Eve. Thank you for watching a movie with me.”

“Is that your way of kicking me out for kicking you off the sofa?”

“Yes,” Villanelle says, and at the horrified look on Eve’s face, she quickly gives in. “Of course not. You may stay as long as you like.”

“Isn’t it past your bedtime? What are you, sixteen?” Eve teases with a smirk.

“Woooooooowwwww, Eve,” Villanelle says, eyes wide. “Wow.” She shakes her head and makes a little tsk sound. “I am twenty-six.”

Eve groans. “That’s not much better. I’m almost old enough to be your—” She stops, because she doesn’t want to say mother... but then she remembers that Villanelle said everyone else gets weird, so she just pretends like she was embarrassed to say it and plows on ahead. “To be your mother!” She folds her arms across her chest and hmphs.

Villanelle’s eyes sparkle when Eve says that. For a split second, it had been awkward, but she thinks it was just her sensitivity, because Eve says it after all, and it’s funny. “You do not look that old, Eve,” she teases. “Seventy-five at most.”

Eve’s eyes bug. “Fucking twat!” she shouts, thoroughly amused but also scandalized.

Villanelle’s hand goes to her mouth to cover it because it’s now hanging open. She tries to stunt the giggles against her fingertips but it’s useless, and soon she’s doubled over like Eve was a little bit ago, and she cannot remember the last time she had this much fun. Her stomach actually hurts from laughing. “Come on,” she says. “How old are you?”

Eve is glad she knocked Villanelle on the floor now. “I’m forty-two,” she says, her face just daring the little imp to make fun of her.

Villanelle does the math quickly. “Sixteen years older than me. Only old enough to be my mother if you were kind of a slut in high school.”

“What the hell is this!” Eve shouts, still trying to stop laughing. “Stop, stop, my face hurts.”

“My stomach hurts so I think we are even,” Villanelle says.

Eve finally is able to calm down, wiping her eyes and running her hands through her hair. “Okay. As fun as it is to get cramps in my cheeks, I do have to get going.”

Villanelle’s chest tightens but she doesn’t give any outward indication. “I will walk you down.” She stops in the kitchen and takes a container out of the fridge, handing it to Eve. “Leftovers. So you will remember how good my food is and want to come back next Friday.”

“I could never forget how good that fuckin’ food was,” Eve swears, but she happily takes the container and hugs it to her chest. “Now you can’t take it back.”

Villanelle snorts and opens the door to the hall, holding it open while Eve walks through. “I wasn’t going to.”

They get into the elevator and the ride down is quiet, both lost in thought and not even looking at each other, but when the car stops on the ground floor and dings, Villanelle looks at Eve. “You will be back next Friday?”

They step out into the lobby. “Are you kidding?” Eve holds up the food and shakes it. “I’ll be back.”

Villanelle grins, her pulse racing under a cool façade. “Give me your phone.”

Eve pulls it from her pocket, unlocks it and gives it over, watches Villanelle presumably put in her number, and takes it back when it’s held out. “Give me yours.”

“It’s upstairs. But I’ll have your number once you text me.”

“What if I want you to text _me_ first?”

“Woooww, Eve.” Villanelle rolls her eyes and turns to leave, but a thought nags at her and she spins back around. “Text me now? So I know I have your number before you go?”

Eve pretends not to notice the vulnerability in those words despite the casual way they’re spoken and just scrolls through to Villanelle’s name—and promptly laughs. Again. “Seriously? Villanelle the sexiest woman you’ve ever seen?”

“I wanted it to be realistic,” Villanelle says, straight faced.

Eve just shakes her head and wipes a hand over her face, takes a calming breath, and sends Villanelle a text.

_I had no idea your last name was so long._

She shows Villanelle because the younger woman looks very anxious and eager about it, as if Eve is going to completely disappear and be untraceable once she leaves the casino.

Satisfied, but her heart still racing, Villanelle nods and saunters back into an open elevator, giving a fingery wave as the doors close.

As soon as she’s back in her suite, she blows through half an eight-ball, spiritedly cleans her entire living area, dances around the kitchen for an hour and then passes out on the sofa just as the sun starts to rise.


	3. Do You Want To Talk About It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: graphic discussions of past childhood physical sexual abuse (these bits are whited out)  
> TW: graphic drug use  
> TW: drug use as a coping mechanism
> 
> Eve has a bad day at work and ends up in the Stardust lobby, drunk. Villanelle retrieves her.

Villanelle sleeps late and wakes up with drool pooled under her cheek. She groans and takes stock of her body – on her front, head turned to the side, one arm and one leg hanging off the edge of the sofa, her other arm pinned beneath her chest and her other leg stretched out comfortably. That one leg is the only thing comfortable about the entire position. Everything else is horrible. Either stiff, tingling, or painful.

Until she remembers she has Eve’s phone number and then none of it matters. She’s up like a shot, wiping the drool from her face with her sleeve and using one socked foot to dry off the small puddle of it on the sofa cushion as she picks up her phone and texts Eve.

_V: I don’t have a last name._

And then she puts Eve’s number into her contacts.

Her phone buzzes a few minutes later.

_Eve: Bullshit._

Villanelle laughs lazily and stretches out on her back, holding the phone up above her with straight arms to reply.

_V: I don’t use it anymore._

_Eve: Why?_

_V: I just don’t._

_Eve: Fair enough. Are you just waking up?_

_V: What? Of course not._

_Eve: Haha, so yes, then._

_V: Woooowwwww, Eve._

_Eve: It’s like three pm. I’ve been at work since eight._

_V: You know I work nights._

_Eve: Shit. Just got a case. Gotta go._

_V: Be careful..._

VIllanelle sighs and sits up again, figuring she might as well take a shower.

***

It’s a bad crime scene. A bad, bad, bad crime scene. One of the worst Eve has ever been called to. And it’s not the blood or the smell or the viscera that makes it so bad, it’s the children. An eight-year-old girl and a ten-year-old boy killed alongside their mother. And it’s grisly. She can’t allow herself to imagine what the three of them went through, and when forensics needs the room cleared, she’s more than grateful to step outside.

She leans against the stone exterior of the apartment building and wishes she smoked. Bill joins her shortly thereafter and she looks at him with a sigh. “The kids, man.”

He stares at her, then at the ground. “Yeah. Right.”

“All the years on this job and I still can’t fucking understand it. How? How could anyone do this to kids?”

“It’s good you can’t understand it, Eve. If you could... I’d worry.”

She leans over and braces her hands on her knees, feeling sick to her stomach. “This case... I... we have to catch them, Bill, we have to.”

***

Villanelle has just finished off the last of yesterday’s eight-ball, and she’s trying to figure out how she can work in the time to buy another before rehearsal when her phone buzzes. It’s Eve...

_Eve: Rough day. I don’t know why I’m telling you that. But I am. I just totally am._

She raises an eyebrow.

_V: Eve, are you drunk?_

_Eve: Wastered._

Wastered? Oh, Eve.

_V: Where are you?_

_Eve: Ffflobby_

_V: Don’t move. I’m coming down._

She shakes her head and puts on some clothes instead of a robe, and hurries down to the lobby. She hears Eve before she sees her, because Eve is publicly screaming at one of the casino floor staff and the sound carries.

Villanelle follows the cacophony until she sees wild curls, and then picks up the pace, offering a placating smile to the poor floor staff as she puts an arm around Eve’s shoulders and leads her away.

Eve is still looking over her shoulder shouting as they walk, and Villanelle is grateful when they’re shut alone in an elevator. Her gratitude fades, however, when Eve slumps to the elevator floor in tears.

Oh... what is she supposed to do with this? Her nose itches and the blow is draining down her throat and she doesn’t deal with people _crying_.

When the elevator stops on the penthouse floor and Eve is still just sitting there, Villanelle drags her into the hallway so they don’t end up riding back down to the lobby and then lets her lean against the wall as long as she likes.

She even sits on the floor next to Eve, tilting her head back with the occasional sniff. You’d think she’d be used to the bitter taste of the drain by now, but she thinks it’s not really something you get used to.

Eve cries, embarrassed but helpless against the tears, and she’s actually pretty grateful that Villanelle just sits there with her. When she finally stops crying, she swipes the heels of her hands across her eyes and gets to her feet. “Thanks. I’m okay now.”

She’s about to call the elevator back when Villanelle springs up and grabs her wrist. “Come inside for a few minutes. You look like shit.”

Eve snorts out a laugh and relaxes her arm with a shrug. “Yeah. Okay.”

Eve follows her in and she shuts the door, heading for the kitchen. “Are you hungry? You drank on an empty stomach, didn’t you, Eve?”

“Guilty,” Eve says, sitting at the dining table. “Do you have any craskers? Crackers? Crackers.”

Villanelle laughs while Eve keeps repeating crackers God knows how many times. “Yes!” she finally says over the litany. “Yes, I have crackers, shh!” She grabs a box and tosses them onto the dining table, but overshoots and they slide halfway across it, out of Eve’s reach.

“Ohhhhhh,” Eve says as if it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to her, leaning over and stretching out an arm as far as it’ll go, but with no luck. “Villa,” she whines, laying her cheek on her arm.

Villanelle blinks at the nickname, wondering if Eve just forgot to keep talking or if it was deliberate, but she hurries over and fixes the situation, placing the box of crackers right in front of Eve’s face. She’s about to go back for some water but decides Eve’s handicap this evening requires that she open the box and take some crackers out. She arranges them in a circle on the table and pats the top of Eve’s head, then goes to get her a glass of water.

Eve is passed out leaning over the table when she comes back with the drink.

Shit. She has to go to rehearsal in like fifteen minutes.

Decision time.

She scribbles a note and puts it on one side of her bed, then carries an already snoring Eve to the bedroom and puts her on the other side.

She hopes she doesn’t end up regretting this... but she leaves Eve sleeping in her bed and goes to work.

***

Eve jerks awake. She forces her eyes open, trying to escape the tail of a bad dream, but opening her eyes doesn’t help because she has no idea where the fuck she is. She’s about to panic when a vague memory assaults her into stillness. Villanelle’s penthouse. That’s where she’s got to be, Villanelle’s penthouse.

She sits up and fumbles in her pocket for her phone. Four am. Fucking perfect. She’s about to make a hasty retreat when the corner of a paper catches her eye, illuminated by the soft glow of her iPhone, and she turns, picking it up. It’s a note.

Eve,

I had to go to work. Please stay as long as you like and help yourself to whatever you need. I’ll be back at six fifteen.

XO~ Villanelle

Despite the situation, the note makes her smile. Whatever she needs, huh? She needs a fucking shower.

And ohhh, Villanelle’s shower is godly. The water pressure is divine and the showerhead has like a million options, and there’s a filter over it so the water changes color. There’s also jets on either side, but she can’t figure out how to work them so she leaves it alone. The rest of it is luxurious enough.

She almost passes out at the smell of the shampoo. She doesn’t even know what scent that is and the words are in Russian so she can’t read them, and there’s no picture to clue her in. The only reason she knows it’s the shampoo is because she squirted a little out of both bottles and she can tell the difference between shampoo and conditioner.

She basically moans while she washes and conditions her hair, and the body scrub is no less amazing. She feels like a new woman as she shuts off the water and steps out onto the mat, grabbing a towel from the rack to her left.

Of course the towel feels like a fucking cloud. She dries off her body and then wraps her hair in the towel... and goes in search of clothing. She’s not putting back on her own mess from last night.

The carpet sinks under the pressure of her feet and she curls her toes in it as she makes her way across the bedroom to the walk-in closet.

At first glance, there’s nothing in here she would ever wear, but she digs in the back and comes up with a ratty pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt. She slips them on, and they fit well enough – the pants are a little long but otherwise good.

She goes back to the bathroom and hangs up the towel, then locates the blow dryer and a brush and handles her hair.

She absolutely has to brush her teeth. Villanelle doesn’t have an unopened toothbrush that she can find, but it’s an emergency so she just uses the one in the holder. Friends use each other’s toothbrushes, right?

No, they don’t, not ever. But... emergency. She’ll just confess first thing when Villanelle gets home and offer to buy her another.

***

Work is annoying because one of the other dancers keeps fucking up, and Villanelle is so irritated by the time the last show closes that she can’t wait to get home and unwind. She’s so _tense_.

The last thing she expects to find when she opens her door is Eve in the media room watching TV while wearing her ratty old college clothes. She shuts the door behind her and hedges her way across the foyer to stand in the boundary to the media room.

Eve looks over and blurts out “I used your toothbrush” first thing on seeing her.

Villanelle stares. “What?”

“My mouth was so disgusting. I’m sorry. I used your toothbrush. I’ll buy you a new one right now.”

She starts to get up but Villanelle stops her. “No no, I have a spare one, it’s okay. But really, you used my toothbrush? Have we known each other long enough for that?” she teases.

“I looked for a spare!” Eve says, eyes wide. “Where is it?!”

Villanelle laughs. “You’ll never know...” She turns to head for the bedroom and catches sight of the dining table, taking a few steps toward it to make sure. “You didn’t eat your crackers.”

“What crackers?”

“Eve, I made a little circular design with crackers for you last night. I thought you would have eaten them when you got up. You must be starving.”

“Circular cracker design?” Eve asks, blinking. “What now?”

Villanelle blows out a puff of air. “Never mind. I’ll make you a real breakfast.” She freezes, though, and backtracks to stand in the media room boundary again. “I know you’re not vice... but you are a law enforcement officer... and I have someone coming in a few minutes...”

Eve waves her hand dismissively. “Not vice. Don’t care.” She’s too engrossed in the show she’s watching to care about drug deals because the commercials are over now and the show’s back on.

Villanelle gets the milk, eggs and bacon out of the fridge and sets everything on the counter. She grabs a bowl and is about to crack an egg when the expected knock comes on the door. She sets the egg carefully in the bowl and peeks at Eve as she goes to open the door, but Eve is still totally captivated by some show about raising chickens.

She keeps the chain on the door as she opens it so Hugo knows he can’t come in.

He smirks and tries to peer through the three-inch crack to see who she’s got inside. “Finally got another dancer in your bed, huh?” he asks.

She makes a face at him. “You are pathetic. No one is in my bed.” She hands him a wad of cash and he hands her a baggie, and she shuts and locks the door before he can say anything else.

She glances at Eve again, who hasn’t moved, and then returns to the kitchen, tossing the baggie onto the counter and starting to make breakfast.

“Have you ever had a chicken?” Eve shouts from the other room a few minutes later.

“Oh, yeah, they’re in the bathroom. Didn’t you notice them when you showered?” Villanelle shouts back.

“I didn’t see any; they must have gotten loose!”

Villanelle snorts out a laugh and pushes the spatula around in the frying pan to make sure the eggs are cooked through.

***

Eve refuses to come to the table until the chicken show is finished, so Villanelle starts without her, and actually finishes without her because she’s not very hungry and doesn’t eat very much. She’d mostly just cooked so that Eve would have something decent to eat.

Eve wanders into the dining room after shutting off the TV and sits down across from Villanelle, who, she notes, isn’t eating. “Aren’t you going to eat?” She starts shoveling in eggs.

“It’s been ready for ten minutes; I’m done already.”

“Then why are you still at the table?”

“Because I’m being polite? I was waiting for you.”

“Oh,” Eve says after swallowing, something fluttering in the pit of her stomach. “That’s... okay. Thank you.” She takes a bite of bacon and closes her eyes. “Oh. Wow. This is so fucking good. Were you going to be a chef or something before you decided on your more lucrative career path?”

Villanelle pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs her arms around them. “I learned to cook early,” she says quietly.

Eve pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth, remembers again that she doesn’t want to be weird, and keeps eating. Should she ask about it? Should she just nod? Should she ask if Villanelle wants to talk about it? She’s not sure.

“I’ll be right back,” Villanelle says, and Eve watches her swipe something from the kitchen counter before disappearing into the bedroom and shutting the door.

Eve finishes her food while she waits, and drinks the juice that Villanelle had poured for her, and she can’t remember the last time she had such an amazing breakfast.

Villanelle emerges a few minutes after Eve’s finished eating, and she looks much less... affected. “You good?” she asks.

Villanelle slides back into her chair, but when she notes Eve’s empty glass and plate, she gets up again and takes the dishes to the sink, busying herself with washing them. “If I didn’t cook, I didn’t eat, and went to bed hungry and bruised,” she says loudly over the running water.

Eve thinks this is purposeful, to make it less personal; less involved. She won’t do anything to disrupt Villanelle’s setup. “I guess it’s good you learned, then,” she says loudly back. “I don’t know if this helps, but I really appreciate what you’ve cooked for me. No one ever cooks for me and it’s really thoughtful of you.”

Villanelle smiles to herself, the numb of the blow working slowly through her and dulling the pain of the memories, and she opens up more. She finishes the dishes and goes back to the table, sitting down, and shows Eve a scar on the back of her right wrist. “I was six and I hadn’t figured out how to use the stove properly, and I burnt myself making grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Eve wants to kiss it but she just traces a fingertip over it lightly instead. “It’s actually really pretty,” she says, and hopes that’s not too weird to say.

Villanelle’s eyebrows shoot up. No one’s ever called any of her scars pretty before, and Eve touching her wrist makes her shiver. “That’s definitely a new one,” she says. “Pretty, huh?”

Eve’s cheeks go a little hot and she withdraws her hand, clearing her throat. “Is that weird? It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“It’s weird,” Villanelle agrees, “but it’s perfect. You don’t make me feel awkward when I tell you things.”

“Because I’m socially inept,” Eve snorts. “I always say the wrong thing.”

“Not to me. I like your ineptitude.”

“Okay. Tell me something else, then.”

Villanelle leans an elbow on the table with her hand supporting her head. “I burnt dinner once. I never did that again.”

Eve tries not to wish she hadn’t asked and waits for the fallout.

“Mama made me cook it even longer until it was charred through, then made me eat it all and beat me when I threw it up.”

Eve feels bubbling anger in the core of her chest, the pit of her stomach, and everywhere inside her brain. She clenches her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms. “She’s definitely dead, right? Decapitated like the others?”

“Yes,” Villanelle says, amused, with a nod.

“I can’t decide whether to be happy she’s dead or upset that I can’t go and decapitate her myself.”

Villanelle stares at her. “You do not think I should have been more careful with everyone’s dinner?”

“Uh, no? I think the lazy fucking pig bastards should have cooked for themselves and not had a little girl cooking for them? It doesn’t bother you to cook now? That didn’t ruin it for you?”

“It has always been a way to take care of myself, so I like it,” Villanelle explains. It’s funny, Eve wanting to kill her mama, because she doesn’t understand that reaction. Especially since they haven’t known each other long. But then again, she’s known from that first night of drinks that Eve is _different_. “Do you have to go to work?”

Eve grins. “Day off.”

“Do you want to go see a movie?”

“You don’t need to sleep?”

Villanelle does need to sleep, but she’d rather go to the movies with Eve. “I’ll nap later,” she says with a dismissive wave.

“Are there even any movies on in the mornings?”

Villanelle frowns. Her sense of time gets so turned around and she’d forgotten it was so early. “Shit. No.” But a thought occurs to her. “Wait... the manager of the AMC owes me a favor. I bet I can get him to show us something.”

Eve blinks. “Don’t waste your favor on an early movie when we could just wait until this afternoon or watch something here...”

Waiting had not occurred to Villanelle, but watching something here had been in the back of her mind. She just hadn’t wanted to suggest it in case Eve didn’t want to stay. “Something here, then?” she says, tempering her excitement. Because Eve clearly wants to stay. Villanelle isn’t used to people wanting to be around her. She hopes she doesn’t do anything to fuck it up.

“Let me pee and I’ll meet you in the media room,” Eve says, standing with a stretch.

“You must’ve gone very far into my closet to find those clothes,” Villanelle says, finally commenting on Eve’s attire.

“They were in the back. You said whatever I needed,” Eve defends herself on her way to the bathroom.

“They look good on you,” Villanelle says, eyeing Eve’s ass as she walks past. “See you in the media room.” She flops onto the sofa, taking up most of it, and when Eve comes in, she moves her feet onto the floor to make room. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Eve flops down as well. “Talk about what?” Villanelle could be referring to a small number of things. Two, really.

“About why you were trying to make the casino floor staff quit their jobs?”

Eve’s chest seizes up and she shakes her head. “No.” Her voice is a little harsher than she intends it to be. “Thanks,” she quickly adds.

Villanelle takes it in stride and turns on the TV, pulling up Netflix. “What do you want to watch?”

“I’m sorry,” Eve says suddenly. “You have been nothing but amazing. If you want me to tell you, I will.”

Villanelle puts down the remote and turns to face Eve on the sofa, head tilted a little to study her, because she can’t figure that one out. “No, Eve. I would never want you to talk about something you don’t want to talk about. I am not upset that you said no.”

Eve hadn’t realized she was holding her breath, but she lets it out slowly at Villanelle’s response, her chest relaxing to make way for more normal future breaths. “Okay. Okay. Thanks,” she says, and she’s pretty sure she’s smiling like an idiot, because never has someone really not pressured her to talk about things before. She bites her lip trying to curb her excitement and turns back to the TV. “Let’s watch something scary.”

“Scary?” Villanelle asks, eyebrows lifting in surprise as she navigates the Netflix menu to the horrors and thrillers. “Like jump-out-of-your-seat scary or not-want-to-go-to-sleep-in-the-dark scary?”

***

They change the movie fifteen minutes in because Villanelle’s already screamed five times and her heart can’t take it... and Eve’s ears can’t take it.

So now they’re watching a cartoon that Eve doesn’t know the name of, but it’s better than having her eardrums burst.

“This used to be my favorite,” Villanelle says. “It was the only show that was just for me.”

“What do you mean?” Eve asks, putting her feet in Villanelle’s lap because she needs to stretch her legs and she doesn’t want to look awkward trying to stretch them out on the floor while her body’s still on the sofa.

“I was allowed to watch one show during lunch time at school,” Villanelle explains. “The counselor let me eat in her office and pick a show to watch. I always picked this one because we didn’t get the channel at home so nobody there could ruin it. It was just mine and nobody bothered me when I watched it.”

Eve wants to cry. “It doesn’t bother you to put it on with me here?” she asks after a minute. “I don’t want to intrude on something private.”

“I would not have put it on if it bothered me,” Villanelle says without looking at her.

Eve isn’t sure what to make of it all. Whether she should be honored that Villanelle is choosing to share this with her or whether it’s really no big deal. Villanelle’s words provide no clue, nor does her body language. “What about my feet in your lap?”

Villanelle still doesn’t look at her but she can see the smile. “It’s nice.”

“Okay then.” She doesn’t question it further.

***

They actually end up spending the whole day together, going to the movies in the early afternoon and going out to lunch after that.

Villanelle disappears to the bathroom halfway through the meal and Eve picks at her food while she waits for her to come back. She gets it, she does. She just wishes maybe Villanelle could hold off until they part company. She won’t ask, though, because she _does_ get it. The horrors this girl has obviously been through... it’s a wonder she functions at all.

Villanelle sucks up more than she should, because being with Eve makes her _feel_ things. Being with Eve makes her want to tell all of her dirty, shameful secrets just so somebody else knows. The urge claws at her, dragging talons across the inside of her chest and separating her flesh from her rib cage... that’s how much she wants to tell. And she can’t tell if she isn’t loaded, so when the high starts to wear off, she refuels. Otherwise she’s a panicked mess, unable to open the doors when Eve’s gentle acceptance knocks.

Slowly, slowly, things come into focus again and she breathes, filling her lungs with the cool bathroom air. At least the air freshener in here is pineapple. It smells delicious.

She gathers herself and returns to the table, dropping unceremoniously back into her seat. “I want you to know why I don’t say the p-word.”

Eve looks at her, at her glassy eyes and her flushed cheeks, at her messy hair and her gorgeous, haunted but happy eyes, and she already knows the answer. “Because it never made a difference.”

Villanelle gasps, and thank God she just did three lines of the really good shit, because otherwise she’d be a crying, babbling mess all over this table. “Yes,” she breathes. “How did you know that?”

Eve shrugs. “I don’t know, I just... I just knew.”

“I just—I think we are friends now, and I do not want you to be offended if I do not use that word.”

Eve can’t help smiling and finding this woman a little bit precious. “We are friends,” she decides with a nod. “And I won’t be offended.”

Villanelle doesn’t know why she believes Eve, but she does. She gets more and more numb and she isn’t hungry anymore, but she watches while Eve eats the rest of her lunch. _I want to tell you everything, Eve. Please let me tell you everything_. “I got held down a lot because I struggled.” She tests the water.

Eve stops chewing for a split second and then forges on, nausea starting to build. She makes herself take another bite of pasta and give a noise of acknowledgment. “Mhmm.”

Villanelle squirms in her seat. She’s getting restless; wants to get out of the restaurant. “When I couldn’t get away, I started asking them to stop, but they never listened. Are you almost done eating, Eve?”

That is the best excuse Eve can think of to stop eating and she puts her fork down. “Totally done. I’ll leave cash, let’s get out of here.”

Villanelle sighs with relief and lets Eve pay only because she made breakfast so it was only fair. Otherwise she would have insisted on paying, as she knows she makes far more than a homicide detective could.

She stands beside the table while Eve gets money out, arms folded over her chest and foot tapping incessantly on the floor.

“I don’t have enough cash, I’ll have to use my card. Do you want to wait for me outs—”

“Yep, I’ll see you outside,” Villanelle says, rushing off.

Eve sighs and waits for the waitress to come collect her card, then waits for the receipt, adds a tip and signs it. She tucks her card and her copy of the receipt back into her wallet, which goes back into her purse, and she takes a steadying breath before walking out.

She finds Villanelle leaned against the building a few feet from the door, arms still crossed and foot still tapping.

“You good?” she asks in her best casual voice.

“Yep,” Villanelle says and starts walking, her footsteps loud and heavy.

Eve has to jog to catch up.

“Sorry I’m not being good company,” Villanelle says, her words clipped and quick.

Eve takes a chance and steps in front of her, stumbling back a little as Villanelle crashes into her. “Stop for a second?”

Villanelle is instantly agitated and scratches at her neck, but she stops walking.

“You’re plenty good company,” Eve says, trying to catch her eye, but it’s difficult because Villanelle’s don’t stay focused on one thing for long.

“I’m not. But thanks.”

“You said we’re friends, right?” Eve tries.

“Mm.” Villanelle nods, lips pulled into a tight line. Her foot starts tapping faster.

“So then as your friend, I don’t need you to be any certain way. I’d rather sit in awkward silence with you than have you think you have to be constantly happy or constantly entertain me.”

Villanelle goes tense as a bowstring for a few interminable seconds, and then deflates. She stops the scratching and the nervous tapping and she just... exists.


	4. I Want to Trust You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: graphic discussions of past childhood physical and sexual abuse (whited out)  
> TW: graphic drug use  
> TW: drug use as a coping mechanism
> 
> A little healing.

They go back to the penthouse and end up on the sofa, staring at each other.

“I want to trust you,” Villanelle blurts out.

Eve isn’t sure what to say to that. “It’s okay if you don’t,” she decides on finally.

“Trust is difficult for me.”

“I think for most people... if they had been through the things you’ve been through... trust would be impossible.”

“But I want to trust you, Eve,” Villanelle says, and Eve can see the desperation; the sorrow; the haunting need to connect.

Eve doesn’t say anything this time, she just nods.

Villanelle curls into a ball at one end of the sofa, wraps her arms around her shins, and stares at the wall. “I had a teacher in year five,” she says flatly, as if she’s removed from the story she’s about to tell.

Eve just listens.

“He told me that Mama would punish me if I wasn’t good for him and let him do what he wanted.”

Eve wants to move closer to her on the sofa but she doesn’t.

“So I said I would be good.” Villanelle shifts a bit but keeps hugging her knees to her chest. “He promised to be gentle.”

Villanelle gets a far-off look in her eyes as she stares at the wall and Eve is afraid to speak and break the spell, but Villanelle seems stuck. She seems like she needs help to get over the bump. “But he wasn’t?” She barely breathes the words into the air between them.

Villanelle shakes her head, staring at everything and nothing all at once. “He was not. He hurt me very much in a lot of places and—”

Eve watches Villanelle’s face close off. Watches her eyes regain focus. Watches the downturn of her mouth.

“—and the principal sent me to the nurse when she saw blood running down my legs.”

Eve can’t help it; she’s crying. “Did the nurse help you?” she whispers. “Did they call child services?”

Villanelle laughs, and it’s hollow. “She wiped off the blood and called Mama to warn her that the principal had seen it. Mama told the principal it was my period, and when I got home she beat me unconscious for not cleaning myself up after Mr. Tyler was through with me.”

Eve wants to scream. She wants to scream and break things and snap her fingers to make Villanelle’s painful memories disappear, and she wants to get her hands on that teacher and Villanelle’s mother but she knows they’re both already dead. All she can do is be here. And that’s all Villanelle wants and needs from her – to be here. To listen. To not get angry or weird.

“I think you’re remarkable,” she says, before she even knows what she’s going to say. The words tumble out unchecked; soft and honest.

Eve’s words penetrate the numb haze that’s settled over her, and she turns her head slowly to look at the older woman. “I wish we were at the poker table.”

Eve isn’t quite sure what to make of the statement and doesn’t understand how it relates to the current situation. So she teases a little, hoping Villanelle will appreciate the attempt at levity. “Why’s that? Are you short on funds?”

Villanelle thinks it’s funny, but she’s too vulnerable to laugh. “Because I can sit on your lap at the poker table,” she confesses, staring down at her knees.

Eve’s heart skips and her stomach flutters. “It’s—” She wants it. She wants to comfort Villanelle. She thinks this is Villanelle’s way of asking for comfort. “You can sit on my lap,” she says quietly; earnestly. She even holds out her arms in invitation just in case her words aren’t enough. “I’d like that.”

Villanelle is moving almost before Eve even finishes speaking, and she lets out a shuddering sigh as she climbs into Eve’s lap and settles there, unburdening herself of holding onto painful memories alone. She likes the way Eve will share her painful memories; the way Eve does not want to steal them from her but also does not want to pretend they don’t exist. Eve is perfect.

“Can I put my arms around you?” Eve asks, hesitating with her hands still in the air.

“Yes, thank you,” Villanelle says, tucking herself tighter against Eve and pressing her face into Eve’s smooth, soft skin. And when arms settle around her, it doesn’t feel threatening. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel oppressive or restrictive or sinister. It feels so, so good, and she’s afraid she’ll never get enough.

Eve holds her. It doesn’t surprise her that Villanelle doesn’t cry. Crying probably made things worse for her as a little girl and she probably learned early on to avoid it. Eve doesn’t mind sitting in silence. Just holding Villanelle. Protecting her. Shielding her. Comforting her.

Villanelle has never been held like this, with no expectations, no requirements, no conditions or threats or forcible touching. Eve isn’t asking anything of her at all, and it is so liberating that she almost chokes on the freedom. Because suddenly feeling free after twenty-two years of captivity is overwhelming. She doesn’t know what to do. So she does nothing. At all. She exists in the quiet shared space and does nothing but feel Eve’s calm.

Eve has no idea how long they sit like this, only that it’s been long enough for her legs to go to sleep. But she wouldn’t dream of complaining, because it’s so, so perfect. Maybe she’s crazy but she swears she can feel Villanelle’s comfort level rising. Because of her. And she so does like to be the one Villanelle lets in. She likes it a lot. She likes Villanelle a lot.

She wants to break the silence but she won’t be the first to speak. That is up to Villanelle.

“Will you stroke my hair?” Villanelle asks after awhile longer.

“Sure,” Eve murmurs, bringing a hand up to run across the tangled mess. Her fingers will get stuck if she tries to comb through it, so she just uses the flat of her palm and strokes from the crown of Villanelle’s head to the tips of her hair on repeat.

Villanelle sighs and burrows further into Eve’s neck, enveloped in warmth and safety for the first time in her whole life, and she realizes she’s exhausted. She’s _so_ exhausted. Mentally, emotionally and physically.

Eve strokes her hair and listens to her breathe and feels her so relaxed, and it’s amazing. Before she knows it, she’s hearing soft snoring, and the fact that Villanelle feels comfortable enough to allow herself to fall asleep... it blows Eve’s mind.

She doesn’t want to do anything to violate that trust or to disturb Villanelle, so she sits on the sofa, holding her, and doing nothing else.

***

It’s hours before Villanelle jerks awake, startling them both. Eve shrieks and jumps and Villanelle shrieks and jumps, and the whole thing ends with Villanelle sprawled on the floor. “What the hell?”

“You scared the shit out of me,” Eve says, putting a hand to her racing heart. “Are you okay?”

“What the hell happened?” Villanelle asks, getting up from the floor and running a hand over her face.

“You fell asleep,” Eve says, trying to slow her heartbeat back to normal.

Villanelle sits on the sofa again, forearms resting on her knees. “On your lap? I fell asleep?” 

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

“It is okay. It is just... unexpected.”

“You’re not upset? I didn’t move a muscle the entire time you slept...”

“Entire time... how long did I sleep?” She looks around for her phone and blinks at the time. “Hours? I slept for hours? On your lap?”

Eve shifts and cringes because God, she has to pee. “My legs are numb. Once the feeling comes back, I have to pee.”

Villanelle eyes her sideways, a warmth creeping over her face. “I am sorry, Eve.”

“What?” Eve asks, instantly alarmed. “Hey, don’t apologize. It was perfect.”

Villanelle knows she’s blushing. “Falling asleep on you and making your legs go numb is perfect? You are very weird, Eve.” She appreciates _everything_ about this woman.

“I warned you I was weird,” Eve says with a grin, glad to have seemingly moved them past the awkward apology stage. Now if she could just get her legs past the awkward pins and needles stage.

“Thank you for being the right type of weird,” Villanelle then says in a rush, looking away.

“Thank you for letting me in,” Eve says. “Okay. Pee time. Be right back.” She hurries to the bathroom and pees for what feels like forever, and when she wanders back to the media room, Villanelle isn’t there. “Villanelle?” she calls.

Villanelle is busy coking her brains out when she hears Eve call her name, and she tilts her head back with a sniff before she calls in return, “in the bedroom!”

Eve is relieved that Villanelle hasn’t left the penthouse, but disappearing into the bedroom can only mean one thing, and her anger at the injustices of the world flares hot. She goes to the bedroom and leans on the door frame, and God, Villanelle is just so fucking _pretty_. And that smile... the way Villanelle’s face lights up when their eyes meet, it’s so... it’s so... it’s so _comfortable_. So familiar. It makes Eve feel like they’ve known each other forever. “You wanna watch a movie before I head home?”

Villanelle is a bit dizzy and her eyes are watering from the burn of the blow, but she definitely wants to watch a movie. There’s only one problem with Eve’s suggestion. “Do you have to go home? Do you have pets or plants or something to take care of? Or a—” and this one makes her chest seize— “or a person?”

Eve laughs. “None of the above. I just figured you’d want some time to yourself. I mean I’ve been here since last night.”

“I like you being here,” Villanelle says as if that’s all the reasoning that anyone could ever need. “And yes, I do want to watch a movie.”

***

Eve borrows pajamas and they camp out on the floor in the media room, and in the morning Villanelle hugs her as she’s leaving.

Villanelle doesn’t really want Eve to ever leave now that she’s gotten used to having her around. “I hope you will come back soon and have another campout,” she says as she lets Eve out of the hug.

“It was really fun,” Eve says with a genuine grin. “Except when you caught that one marshmallow on fire and we couldn’t put it out.”

Villanelle laughs at the reminder and shakes her head. “I don’t know what we would have done if it had not fizzled itself out.”

“Oh God. Or if it had caught anything else on fire. Like your hair, for instance, which it almost did.” Eve chortles and hooks her thumbs in her belt loops. “You’ve got my number. Text me later.”

Villanelle watches her walk down the hallway and disappear into the elevator before she goes back into her apartment and shuts the door.

She likes Eve.

A lot.

Maybe too much. She should ease the tension so she doesn’t do something stupid the next time they’re together.

So she takes off all her clothes and gets into bed, lays on her front with a pillow between her legs and grinds down against it until she comes, a picture of Eve’s face imprinted on her eyelids when she closes her eyes.

And then she sleeps.


	5. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for aftermath of childhood physical and sexual abuse (I've whited out specific phrases but please note this chapter deals with the emotional fallout of all of Villanelle's childhood experiences)  
> TW for self-harm (punching the wall repeatedly)  
> TW for mentions of drug use as a coping mechanism
> 
> They fall into a routine. Villanelle has a breakdown and Eve helps her through it.

It becomes a routine. Eve stays over every few nights and they camp out in the living room. They watch movies and eat popcorn and talk, and sometimes they make things like the string bracelets that neither of them ever made growing up. Villanelle gets high as a kite and sits on Eve’s lap and tells her more and more, and Eve just listens and holds her.

At Christmas time Eve doesn’t even bother getting a tree for her own apartment, she just helps Villanelle pick one out and decorate it, and they string popcorn and cranberries and drink root beer floats and spend over an hour trying to untangle Villanelle’s tree lights before giving up and going to the store for new ones.

“What did you do to those lights?” Eve asks as she grabs two boxes from the shelf and nudges Villanelle lightly with her hip.

Villanelle laughs and nudges back. “They’ve been in storage for... a long time.”

Eve looks over at her. “How long?”

Villanelle looks away; shrugs. “A while.”

Eve stops walking in the middle of the aisle and stares. “How long has it been since you’ve had a tree?”

“I don’t usually celebrate Christmas,” Villanelle finally admits. “Those lights are from my parents’ stuff I got when they died.”

Eve narrows her eyes. “It’s a good thing we’re getting new ones then... half of the bulbs are probably burnt out. Ancient-ass lights...”

Villanelle breathes a sigh of relief at the quality of Eve’s answer and they continue toward the checkout.

“Can you imagine if we’d have spent any longer untangling those relics and then they’re half burnt out?” Eve asks on the walk back to the Stardust.

“I never really thought about those tiny light bulbs dying. I used to think Christmas lights were magical because they always just worked.”

“Sorry to be the one to tell you they’re just science,” Eve says with a long-suffering sigh.

“Don’t worry. I stopped believing in magic by the time I was five.”

“You know you’re the best friend I’ve ever had?” Eve blurts out suddenly.

Villanelle doesn’t make it weird. She just keeps walking and grins to herself, and when they’re in the elevator going up to the penthouse, she just says simply, “you too.”

“You asshole!” Eve says, wide eyes turning on Villanelle. “You made me wait all that time to say it back?!”

Villanelle’s laugh sounds more like a cackle. She’s still doing it when they’re inside the suite, and she lets Eve pass her up so she can close and lock the door. “I am probably not the best friend anymore, hm?” she teases.

“No,” Eve lies. “Definitely the worst now.”

“This is what I thought. Will you open the lights? I need to use the restroom.”

“Have you, um—” Eve cuts herself off and shakes her head. Tonight is the night for blurting shit out, apparently. “Never mind.”

Villanelle halts her retreat and turns. “What is it?”

“No, it’s nothing,” Eve says, her face feeling a little hot.

Villanelle walks over and stands right in front of her. “It is not nothing, Eve. What were you going to ask me?”

Eve sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “I just... you know I never ever judge you for the way you cope, I just wondered how long it’s been since you tried not getting high for a night? To see if—I mean maybe since you’ve talked—I mean I don’t know what I mean. It’s stupid, I’m sorry.”

Villanelle feels a small piercing pain in her chest at the idea of going without. But... it _has_ been a very long time, and she _has_ talked a lot about her past with Eve, so maybe... maybe it’s time to try. “It is not stupid,” she says. “I will try it, once, tonight, for you and for me. It has been a very long time, so I don’t know how I will react, okay?”

“It’s—you know, you really don’t have to,” Eve says, feeling ridiculous for having even brought it up. Who does she think she is, honestly? She has no right to ask—

“Stop doing whatever it is you’re doing inside your head, Eve,” Villanelle says, rolling her eyes. “But I do still need the restroom. To pee.” She likes watching Eve blush. “Start a movie.”

She goes pee and washes her hands, then leans on the sink and stares at herself in the mirror. She knows she’s pretty, but there’s more to her than that. She’s looking for a spark, and she sees it in her eyes and in her smile when she thinks of Eve. She can do this. And if she falls... she knows without a doubt that Eve will catch her.

It’s strange, having that much confidence in another person. Strange and very new, but extremely nice.

So... she’s doing it. She’s really doing this. _Breathe, Villanelle. The eight-ball is there if you crash and burn_.

Eve is just turning on the original Grinch cartoon when Villanelle comes into the media room, and she can tell instantly that Villanelle kept her word. There’s no sniffing and her eyes are still as bright as they were before. Not that she’d thought Villanelle wouldn’t keep her word, but she notices the signs regardless. “Hey.” She’s nervous, she realizes. Because if this goes sideways, it’s on her.

“Hey. What’d you pick?” Villanelle asks, sliding onto the sofa and stretching her legs out in front of her.

“The Grinch cartoon, the original one,” Eve says, trying not to be nervous.

“I love that one,” Villanelle says, rubbing her hands together as the beginning credits start to roll.

She’s relaxed at first. Things are going okay. Her mind gets clearer and clearer as the movie goes on; the more time she lets the afternoon’s blow work its way out of her system.

By the end of the movie she’s seeing shadows where there are none and feeling phantom touches, and she needs a shower. Maybe the heat will wash it all away and she can be normal with Eve. She wants so badly to be normal with Eve. She’s never wanted anything more than that, she doesn’t think, except a knight in shining armor when she was a little girl. But even that want had faded fast and she’d wished for a painless sleep instead. _This_ want, the overwhelming, clawing need to be normal with Eve, she hopes _this_ one never goes away.

“Pick another movie; I’m going to shower,” she says and skirts out of the room before Eve can agree or disagree.

Eve watches her go, and while it’s an odd time for a shower, she’s not going to question it. Villanelle can shower whenever she wants.

She lounges there being lazy for so long that the movie restarts itself, and she’s about to get up and shut it off when she hears a blood-curdling scream from the bathroom.

Prepared for anything, she takes off at a sprint, grabbing a ceramic vase on the way just in case there’s an intruder, but it’s just Villanelle, melting down, and she drops the vase and jumps into the shower fully clothed, shoes and all, and holds out her arms.

Villanelle registers Eve and sees the invitation of outstretched arms, and she flinches away instinctively before her brain reminds her that this is the woman she trusts, and she launches herself into the hug, sobbing. She cannot even remember the last time she cried.

The water is almost scalding, but Eve doesn’t care. She’ll turn it down if the opportunity presents, but for now she just endures the burn of every droplet that pelts her clothes and skin.

“Why, Eve?” Villanelle sobs. “Was I bad? Was Oksana bad?”

“No, you were not bad,” Eve whispers. She would elaborate but she thinks simple answers are better right now.

“Then why did they hurt me?” It’s more screaming than sobbing now and she breaks out of Eve’s embrace to send her fists into the tiled wall over and over and over until her knuckles are bruised and bleeding. “Every night! Every fucking night! I never got a minute to myself! And it was EVERYONE! Why was it everyone? Why didn’t SOMEONE protect me?! It’s not fair! I am so fucking ANGRY!” She screams until her throat is raw and there’s blood streaming down the walls and swirling down the drain, and she takes the shower head and bashes it into the tile, not stopping until it falls apart in her hands and there is nothing left to destroy.

Eve stands back, ready to be there when Villanelle wants her, and maybe most people would try to stop her from punching the wall or destroying her showerhead, but Eve isn’t going to do that. Villanelle has had enough people trying to control her all of her life, and Eve is not going to be the same. So she lets her punch; lets her destroy; lets her scream and cry, and just stands, waiting, silent. Villanelle knows she’s there. She doesn’t need to announce her presence and take away from the cathartic moment. She doesn’t need to make it about her, because it’s not. It’s about Villanelle finally _feeling_ her feelings; getting angry and acknowledging the unfairness of what happened to her. There will be time for talking later.

Villanelle knows Eve is there and she’s half surprised not to feel a hand on her arm when she starts beating the wall. Everything is so bottlenecked, so pushed down by the drugs but always simmering just on the edge of her consciousness, and without that restraining barrier, everything attacks her at once.

When she can’t scream anymore and her hands hurt too badly to continue finding things to break despite the adrenaline coursing through her body, she turns and collapses. And Eve is there, sitting on the shower floor, her clothes being ruined by water and blood, but she doesn’t even blink. Villanelle knows that in this moment, the only thing Eve cares about is _her_. And it’s incredible. Even amidst the chaos of her mind, Eve is a shining beacon and she climbs into the waiting lap, laying her head on the waiting shoulder, feeling supportive arms around her, and she lets herself just... cry. Softer now, no more screaming or violence, just tears of grief over everything she’d lost and tears of pain over everything she’d had that she’d never wanted to have.

Eve reaches up to turn off the water, which is spurting in odd directions due to the battered showerhead, and they sit for what feels like hours. It is probably only about a half hour but it seems like hours to Villanelle because despite her heartbreak, she feels a little lighter, and she’s very comfortable in Eve’s arms.

The longer she calms, the more her hands hurt, and she wonders if anything is broken. She wiggles her fingers and lets out a whimper, pressing her face against Eve’s neck.

“Broken?” Eve whispers.

“Not sure,” Villanelle whispers back. “I think so.” Fuck, her voice is scratchy. It sounds as broken as her fingers feel.

“Can I get you dried off and dressed and take you to emergency?” Eve is still whispering. She doesn’t want to shatter the calm.

“Only if you borrow some of my clothes and dress yourself too,” Villanelle says, biting her lip. “You can’t go anywhere like that.”

“Glad we agree on something,” Eve teases, less afraid to break the mood now that Villanelle has a little of her sass back.

“I’m sorry I—”

“Please don’t,” Eve interrupts. “Please don’t be sorry.”

“Okay,” Villanelle agrees. “I won’t. I will just say thank you instead.”

“That I can handle.” She gets to her feet and drops her pants, stepping out of them after kicking off her shoes, then sheds her shirt so she won’t be dripping everywhere and grabs a towel for Villanelle.

She notices a lot of scars as she dries off the shaking woman, then wraps her in the towel for the short walk to the bedroom.

Villanelle sits on the edge of the bed and lets Eve dress her, the throbbing in her knuckles almost unbearable. But she doesn’t want to complain. She’s the one who went rounds with a tiled wall, after all.

***

The middle and ring fingers on Villanelle’s right hand are broken and the others are all just bruised and scraped. She gets a cast on her right hand and her left gets bandaged with fluffy gauze, and she really wants some fucking blow instead of the ibuprofen they give her for the pain.

But she’s gotten through about eight hours without it now, and that’s something. “I want to be normal with you,” she says wistfully on the cab ride home.

“Normal?” Eve asks. “Haven’t we talked about normal? There’s no such thing. And if there was, it would be boring.”

“But I mean... I want to be able to watch movies with you and snuggle without having to snort my feelings up my nose.”

“You watched a movie with me tonight without snorting your feelings, and we technically snuggled in the shower,” Eve says. “So that’s two for two.”

Villanelle laughs, and she can’t believe she’s able to laugh after the night she’s had, but she does, she laughs. “If that is your idea of snuggling, I do not think we are talking about the same thing.”

Eve holds an arm out. “So come snuggle with me now.”

Villanelle’s heart starts to race and her throat goes dry and she stares at Eve’s arm, then chest, then face... and then she unbuckles her seatbelt and moves to the middle seat, buckling that one instead. She carefully leans up against Eve, and she’s not sure how it’s going to feel now that she’s not in the middle of crisis mode. She closes her eyes and breathes in Eve’s scent, and it’s good. Eve’s scent is familiar to her now; comforting, and she draws power from it as she settles into a snuggle, sober and on her terms. Yeah, it feels good.


	6. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: graphic drug use, TW: drug use as a coping mechanism, TW: general aftermath of past childhood sexual abuse, but nothing specific mentioned this chapter so nothing is whited out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've not updated anything in so long... been having computer and tooth issues. But please don't say welcome back because then I don't get to hear what you thought of the chapter, and then I always feel bad if I don't post right away again, so it's just so much PRESSURRRRRRRRREEEEEEEeeeee! I always feel very welcomed back. :)

Eve holds Villanelle for the entire cab ride, and when they’re back in the penthouse with it locked up tight, she turns to her friend, her best friend, actually, because she’s made a decision. “If it’s all right with you, I think I’ll stay here, at least for a few days until your hands don’t hurt so much and you can do things for yourself. If it’s okay. I just—”

Villanelle’s chest fills up with something and she interrupts Eve’s tirade, a grin on her face. “It’s okay. I pretty much always want you to be here, so... yes.”

“Okay. Are you tired? I mean it’s the middle of the night so I’m guessing you’re tired?”

“I don’t know if I can sleep.” She’s nervous about what she wants to ask, but she tries not to let it show. “Maybe if you were there?”

They usually camp out in the media room and take turns on the sofa and the floor, but Eve can tell that’s not what Villanelle is referring to. “You want to sleep in bed, but... with me there?” The idea makes her heart race.

“It’s stupid, right? How is having someone else in the bed going to help me sleep?”

“That’s not what I was thinking and it’s not stupid,” Eve says. “I just didn’t want to misunderstand. And you know, having someone you trust nearby can absolutely help you sleep. It’s not stupid,” she repeats. “Nothing you could ever want or need is stupid.”

“Except blow,” Villanelle says quietly, determined to insult herself somehow.

“Even that isn’t stupid,” Eve says. “Come on. Let’s get into pajamas and brush our teeth. Or I’ll brush both our teeth,” she realizes with a snort of laughter.

Villanelle’s cheeks go hot and she shuffles into the bedroom. She still feels out of sorts being completely sober and doesn’t know how long she’ll last, but for now it’s... it’s good.

It turns out it’s incredibly awkward to brush someone else’s teeth, especially another adult, but Villanelle stands still with her mouth open to make it as easy as possible and so the whole thing is over in less than five minutes, which Eve is grateful for.

They get into bed and Eve lies on the very edge, not wanting to crowd Villanelle. She’s not sure how this is supposed to go. They’ve never shared the bed.

“You’re going to fall off,” Villanelle says, turned on her side facing Eve’s back. “You don’t make me uncomfortable. You can move closer.”

“What if I grab you in my sleep or something?” Eve mumbles, but she does scoot away from the edge and roll onto her back, turning her head to look at Villanelle, the younger woman’s face outlined by a soft glow from the nightlight plugged in beside the bed.

Villanelle moves closer, careful not to hit Eve with her cast as she settles against the other woman. “You make me feel so safe.”

It’s all Villanelle needs to say to reassure Eve that this is okay, and she slides one arm under Villanelle’s neck and drapes one over her back, cradling her carefully. “You _are_ safe. I promise you that.”

***

Villanelle wakes in the early morning, screaming and thrashing and drenched in cold sweat. She knocks Eve in the face with her cast trying to scramble out of bed and watches in horror as Eve wakes with a start, groaning and clutching her cheek with both hands.

“I’m sorry!” Villanelle shouts, tears streaming down her face, and she darts into the bathroom, locks herself in, rummages through her cabinets until she finds her emergency stash, and makes quick work of cutting a heavy line and sucking it up.

She’s still shaking when Eve knocks on the door.

“Villanelle? Can you open the door?”

“Go away, I’m just a disappointment!” Villanelle yells.

Eve knows what that means and to be honest, she feels bad for having even suggested anything the night before. Villanelle is obviously not ready. The horrors have such a deep, cloying hold on her soul that it breaks Eve’s heart. “You’re not a disappointment,” she calls back, resting her forehead on the cool wood. “I’m not disappointed. I’ll be in the kitchen getting an ice pack,” she adds after a few minutes of silence, when it becomes clear that Villanelle will in fact not be opening the door.

Villanelle doesn’t answer; she sits feeling sorry for herself a while longer, then gets up intending to take a shower. But she can’t take a shower because the showerhead is busted. “Fuck!” Could this day have started off any worse? Does it even count as the beginning of the day when it’s probably like four in the morning?

Eve hears the solitary curse word and looks toward the sound, but she’s already tried to communicate with Villanelle and been shut down so she’s not going to push. The last thing Villanelle needs is someone being pushy, especially when everything is all churned up. So she sits at the dining room table holding an ice pack on her face and waits.

When Villanelle does finally surface it’s probably been half an hour, and Eve hopes she won’t be mad, but all that registers on her friend’s face is surprise.

“You are still here,” Villanelle says, her voice hoarse.

“I’m still here,” Eve says, setting the half melted ice pack on the table.

Villanelle gasps at the bruise on Eve’s face and forgets her own problems for a second as she rushes forward and leans down to inspect it. “I’m so sorry,” she breathes. “I should have known not to be so comfortable.”

“Hey,” Eve says immediately, shaking her head. “Don’t do that. I’d take a hundred casts to the face if it meant you could be comfortable.”

Villanelle’s lower lip trembles and she tries not to cry. “Why? Why would you do that for me?”

“Because you deserve someone to put your needs first for once in your life,” Eve says softly. “A few bumps and bruises are a small price to pay for giving you something you should’ve had all along. Okay?”

Villanelle sniffs and nods, and she’s not sure if she’s sniffing back tears or blow. “I couldn’t handle it, I caved,” she says a few minutes later.

“I know,” Eve says. “I understand. I shouldn’t have asked… you’re the only one who can know if and when you’re ready.” She stares at Villanelle, at those haunted eyes, and repeats herself. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay that you did,” Villanelle decides, pulling up a chair and sitting with her knees touching Eve’s under the table. “I think I like that you did. No one else cares, so it’s kind of nice.”

“I care so much,” Eve says, exhaling a puff of air. “You’re such an amazing, fascinating person…”

“Eve,” Villanelle complains. “You are going to make me blush.”

Eve laughs and fiddles with the melting ice pack so she has something to do with her hands. “It’s true though.”

“And you are a mysterious, tough, kind, passionate, intriguing person,” Villanelle says back. See how Eve likes it.

Eve’s jaw drops. “Hey…”

Villanelle shrugs. “It’s only fair.” She likes the little dust of pink that’s worked its way onto Eve’s cheeks. “Pink is your color, Eve.”

“You play so dirty,” Eve says, pulling a face.

“Not as dirty as those chicken shows you are always watching…”

Eve snorts at that one and shakes her head, getting up to put the ice pack back in the freezer. Her face is only mildly throbbing now. “Let’s watch a movie.”

Villanelle hadn’t known what to expect. She had failed to follow through with something Eve had asked her to do… but Eve is acting like it’s no big deal. Eve is not mad, not yelling, not even disappointed. It only makes Villanelle feel even more safe, and more… more whatever it is she feels about Eve. “A movie sounds perfect. Are you sure you are not mad?”

Eve stops in front of Villanelle’s chair on her way to the media room and just stares for a long quiet minute. “I don’t know if I could actually ever get mad at you,” she finally says.

“I’ll bet you can,” Villanelle says with a half smirk. “Just wait.”

Eve smiles a bit wistfully, recognizing Villanelle’s need to change the subject. “Do you need anything before we settle down?”

“I wanted a shower,” Villanelle pouts a little.

“Want to go get a new showerhead instead of watching a movie?”

Villanelle perks up. “You would do that? Go out at four in the morning to get me a new showerhead?”

“Why not? It’s Vegas… something’s gotta be open.”

“There is a twenty-four-hour Walgreen’s down the street,” Villanelle says, biting her lip.

***

Showering is awkward when she can’t use her hands and can’t get her cast wet. Eve actually has to help her with everything. Like… _everything_. And it takes all she has not to react to touches on her breasts and between her legs. Even though Eve is using a loofah, it’s still stimulating. It’s still the first time in a long time that anyone has touched her there. When she has sex, it’s quick and dirty and there’s no touching by the other person and she’s on top and she calls all the shots and she rides dicks or fingers or strap-ons or faces and then she walks away. This… this is soft and tender and intimate, and Eve is doing it to _help_ her, to bathe her, and that’s it. There’s not a single thing Eve does that says otherwise, that says she’s enjoying this on a sexual level, and Villanelle could kiss her for that. Because even though her nipples get hard and she gets wet, it’s not about sex and she doesn’t want it to be. She does probably want to have sex with Eve, but not in the shower and not when she’s injured and not when she’s naked and vulnerable. If Eve was enjoying this or making it sexual, she probably couldn’t handle it right now, but she knows Eve won’t do that because Eve is perfect, and that thought just makes her wetter and she forces her brain off before she’ll let out some kind of embarrassing sex noise while Eve washes her.

Eve stands outside the shower and reaches in with one hand to wash Villanelle, and it’s uncomfortable and makes her shoulder ache, but she’s not about to say that. She’s not about to fuck this up, because it means so much to her that Villanelle trusts her like this. Villanelle trusts her with things that she’d never trust anyone else with, and it makes Eve feel good. She’ll never betray that trust. So she thinks of ugly, hideous things while she washes Villanelle’s lady parts and they both get through it unscathed. “Mkay,” she announces when she’s finished. “All done. Let me grab the showerhead and rinse you off.”

Villanelle moves out of the way so Eve can reach further in and grab the showerhead, then stands still while she’s rinsed off, and once that’s all accomplished she steps toward the towel Eve is holding open for her and snuggles into it.

“You didn’t get your cast wet, right?” Eve asks as she starts to dry Villanelle off.

“No,” Villanelle says with a laugh, because of course Eve would ask.

“Why is that funny?” Eve asks, pulling a face, rubbing the towel up and down Villanelle’s back.

“Because you were with me the whole time. If I got my cast wet, you would have seen.”

Eve pulls an even more awful face at that. “Yeah, okay, that’s true. Fine. Stupid question.”

“I did not say that…” Villanelle laughs again. She decides she rather likes being pampered this way and stands still to let Eve finish drying her. “Maybe I should break my hand more often,” she says before she can think better of it, and she grits her teeth, hoping Eve won’t be upset.

Eve snorts and drapes the towel over Villanelle’s head so it covers her face. “Fuck off. I don’t know if we should bother sleeping; it’s like five in the morning.”

Villanelle carefully takes the towel away from her face and shrugs. “I’ve got nowhere to be in the morning. Is it a work day for you?”

“I have swing shift this week… so I guess I can nap. What pajamas do you want?”

“You don’t want me to stay naked?” _Jesus, Villanelle, stop, oh my God_ …

“Up to you,” Eve says, deliberately not rising to the bait, raising an eyebrow and heading for the media room. “Bring me some pajamas if you want me to dress you. I’m picking a movie.” Her hands shake as she picks up the remote because _of course_ she wants Villanelle to stay naked, but she’s not going to say that.

Villanelle settles on a compromise and brings Eve a pair of panties and an oversized shirt. She helps Eve get them onto her and settles on the sofa, curled into one corner of it with a content sigh. It feels so right with Eve, always. So good. Safe, and fun, and Eve never judges her even when she judges herself. She has never felt comfortable around people before and never thought she would, but she’s so comfortable with Eve that it’s almost scary. But she won’t let it be scary. She’ll let it feel amazing and that’s that. “Can I play with your hair?”

“Not with your cast hand,” Eve shoots back, picking a movie and putting it in the player, then sitting down and leaning over to put her head on Villanelle’s lap, offering her hair.

“Is your cheek okay?” Villanelle asks as she takes her good (well, less bad) hand and starts stroking the tips of her fingers through Eve’s curls.

“It hurts, but I’ve had worse. It’ll be fine,” Eve says. “The ice pack helped. And don’t say sorry again.”

Villanelle grins. “How did you know I was going to?”

“I could just feel the words about to leave your mouth.” Eve smirks even though she’s facing away.

When the movie starts, Villanelle groans. “Oh my God, Eve, why are you obsessed with chickens?”

“Why do you own Chicken Little if you don’t like the movie?”

“I did not say I don’t like the movie, I just wondered why you are obsessed with chickens?”

“They’re cool! What other pet can you get food from without murdering it?”

Villanelle is horrified that this is the reason Eve likes chickens. “You are not meant to get food from pets at all!” she shrieks. “This is why they are called pets!”

“Pshhh. Who says pets can’t be multi-taskers? Do you want me to pick a different movie?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can’t play with my hair.”

“Chicken Little is perfect, Eve. Perfect.”


End file.
